


2246: Beta

by birdsandivory



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hilarity Ensues, Kissing, M/M, Pidge is annoyed, Post-Canon, Shatt, Shiro and Matt spending the holidays together, and boy is it a disaster, fluffy hilarity, just boys being bros cooking when they cant, the destruction of property
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-24 07:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsandivory/pseuds/birdsandivory
Summary: “Matt, I don’t know about this... Why would you even agree to us making the turkey? Neither of us can cook.”Stepping away for a moment, the tech placed his hands on the corner of the sheet, giving Shiro that ridiculously endearing smile that told him whatever he just said would be considered, but unaccounted for.“Look, I just spent twelve hours building this to prove to Pidge that you and I can do more than bring store bought sugar cookies to the house on Thanksgiving.” His tone was firm, and Shiro pursed his lips, not quite liking where the conversation was leading. “Now, put on your goggles and make sure your gloves are pulled all the way to your elbows.”





	2246: Beta

**Author's Note:**

> This is another one for the ShattSunday prompts over on Tumblr! I hope you guys enjoy; it was so much fun to write and I love these boys. :'>

“Matt, I don’t know about this.” Shiro followed his boyfriend into the garage of his home wearily, dressed head to toe in one of the man’s lab uniforms, only slightly uncomfortable due to the fact that it was just a little too short and a _lot_ too tight.

His prior complaints didn’t seem to faze the other, who had looked to him with a determined expression, stopping before a large mass covered by a thin, blue tarp. Saying nothing, he reached up to pat the elder’s cheek near apologetically, humming appreciatively as he thumbed along unshaven stubble. The former Captain of the Atlas felt a bit disarmed by the motion. “Why would you even agree to us making the turkey? Neither of us can cook.”

Stepping away for a moment, the tech placed his hands on the corner of the sheet, giving Shiro that ridiculously endearing smile that told him whatever he just said would be considered, but unaccounted for.

“Look, I just spent twelve hours building this to prove to Pidge that you and I can do more than bring store bought sugar cookies to the house on Thanksgiving.” His tone was firm, and Shiro pursed his lips, not quite liking where the conversation was leading. “Now, put on your goggles and make sure your gloves are pulled all the way to your elbows.”

There was a sigh of resignation on his lips, because he knew better than to get in the way of a man and his machines, having had experienced defeat several times since meeting Matt. Still, there was no doubt in his mind that he should worry; his partner was zealous when it was most inconvenient. And pulling on a pair of thick gloves up and over his arms, he tugged the goggles the other had given him from their resting place above his fringe, watching as the tarp was dramatically tossed aside to reveal a contraption - ever so obviously welded together by several things he’d had lying around his garage.

Shiro tried not to pay much mind to the fact that he definitely spotted some spare parts to his motorcycle crafted into the device.

Tone of voice flat, he inquired, “is that a turkey fryer?”

Looking to Matt, who had beamed at the question, he couldn’t help but feel concern for whoever dared to eat the poultry they’d be cooking; but as his excitable boyfriend started it up with the flick of a switch and a roar he didn’t want to have to compare to an engine, he let himself swell with a bit of pride for the creation.

No one could say the man didn’t have ambition.

“Cute _and_ smart,” he replied happily, arms gesturing to his machine’s _‘best features!’_ “After doing some research, I decided that frying our turkey would give us the best odds of success. Not to stunt your skills, babe, but you suck with a stove and an oven.”

Shiro was a bit offended. “And you’re better?”

“Nope! I’m a hermit - I live off of dry cereal and pinwheel cookies. I know my limits.”

The former paladin, in any other situation, would’ve been happy to agree; Matt was a man of questionable taste, and he most definitely wasn’t a cook, but at least he didn’t make excuses. However, one would be warranted, were it able to get him out of the disastrous mess the other had gotten them into. He really should have tried harder to convince his partner that store bought cookies weren’t exactly a bad thing.

For one, they were guaranteed to taste pretty good every time.

The techie was waiting for him to bite - he could tell - and, if anything, he wanted to get the entire fiasco over with as soon as possible. “So, how is this going to work?”

Matt’s grin somehow stretched impossibly wide.

“Well, I already filled the oil tank and turned her on - her name is Frita, like ‘fried,’ Lance taught me that word when I asked about french fries - and, once she’s hot, we drop that sucker in using this basket.” Reaching behind the machine, a wire bed that looked suspiciously similar to the ones attached to their bicycles fastened with a heat resistant _(he hoped)_ hook was pulled before him on display; he hadn’t been given the chance to comment on it, tawny eyes looking to and fro for something. “Where is the sucker anyway?”

_Of course._

“In the wagon, where you left it.”

“Perfect!” Matt shuffled past him, stepping outside of the door to the garage to pull an uncannily huge turkey from a small wagon Shiro had owned since he was nine, heaving it back inside and handing it to him while he attached the fry bed to a pulley mechanism. Testing the rope and lugging the basket up so it hovered above the oil, he checked the temperature gauge, looking satisfied. “Okay, I think she’s ready for the bird.”

Shiro gazed down at the raw bag of poultry in his arms with a frown, standing awkwardly as Matt fumbled with a pocket knife he grabbed from the table, cutting away the plastic and twine keeping flapping, gelatinous skin from spreading. Giving the bird a slap on the backside that made him a little uncomfortable, the other took the turkey from his arms, plopping it into the makeshift fryer basket before taking a foot back - pulling his own goggles over his eyes and slipping gloves over his arms.

A true mad scientist if there ever was one.

“I really don’t know about this.” The former Captain voiced once more, only to receive an exasperated sigh from his boyfriend.

“Hey, we didn’t survive a space war by being worried about every little thing. Cojones!” Placing both hands around the rope of the pulley, he prepared to lower the basket down. “Lance also taught me that word; it means ‘balls!’”

“I’m aware,” Shiro replied, unimpressed.

“Are you ready?”

At the last possible moment, he moved to stand behind Matt - though whether it was to protect the man or himself, he wasn’t sure. “As I’ll ever be.”

There was a bout of ominous laughter.

“‘Freeloader’ my butt,” he heard him whisper under his breath, “wait ‘til she sees this.”

Shiro didn’t want to say that a Matthew Holt with something to prove was a little dangerous.

But… he was a little dangerous.

“Oh, boy.”

“Here we go!” Lowering the turkey down and into the oil, the sound of skin crackling as it met high heat put Shiro a bit on edge, but after a moment of spitting and sizzling - the fryer simmered down into a low series of hisses. And he thought that things were - surprisingly - going very well for one of Matt’s overnight inventions. From the looks of it, the core of their Thanksgiving meal was actually… cooking.

He let himself smile then.

The second he did, the quiet hisses began accompanying a few odd _‘thunks,’_ and for some reason - he was pretty sure a fryer didn’t smoke quite like the one in front of them was. In fact, the surface was emitting a strange blue sheen that sprung waves of heat from it.

Words could not describe Shiro’s internal panic to the basket catching aflame.

Beside him, Matt looked awfully calm, humming as he placed his hands on his hips. “Shiro… does it look like it’s malfunctioning to you?”

“It looks like it’s on fire - Matt!” He didn’t have much time to react, because before he could say anymore, there was a loud screech - and he reached up to cover his ears, the sound growing in volume until a wild _‘bang’_ shook his foundation, the man losing balance and falling back onto the ground as smog clouded his vision.

His ears were ringing and his lungs burned, the incident occurring so quickly, he wasn’t even sure of what happened - but he was absolutely positive it was exactly as he had expected.

Though, maybe not down to the minor details.

“Shiro?” Amidst the smoke filling the garage, a coughing fit followed the call of his name, and the former Captain waved his hand to dispel the fog - noticing the glove covering his prosthesis had melted a bit in the process of him probably shielding his face. Matt emerged then, covered in soot, bending before him to give his body a once over. “Are you okay? I was expecting an explosion, but my calculations were definitely a bit off. Good thing that’s not your real arm, huh?”

Taking the hand offered to him, Shiro dusted himself off as soon as he was back on his feet, taking a look around and finding that his once neatly organized two-car was a wasteland of busted parts, his pristine floor now unsightly concrete soaked through with fryer grease. He spotted the turkey lying face down in the pool, bubbling and crackling still. He was pretty sure he’d never be able to get that stain out; not to mention the black, tar-like substance lining the deck he kept his bike on was so seemingly thick, he’d have to park her outside until he got it cleaned up.

“Matt!” Thrusting his arms outward, and looking like a fool, he gestured to the destroyed room. “Our garage!”

“Well, I don’t technically live with you yet, so it’s still your garage.” He grinned, placing both of his hands tentatively on Shiro’s chest, spreading the soot-roasted fabric of his no longer white lab coat. “But, aww! Babe, you want it to be _ours._ You’re such a cutie.”

“Matt.” He attempted not to feel bad when the other’s smile twisted into an expression that could only be described as an amused and only semi-apologetic looking _‘oops.’_ Groaning, he moved to pull off his gloves, mind worrying more about the turkey-less Thanksgiving party they were about to have rather than the mess in his carport. “Pidge is going to kill me.”

He watched Matt wrinkle his nose at the statement. “Why would she kill you?”

“Because _I_ let you do this.” Stepping away, Shiro walked out of the garage, the other on his heels as he booted his way to the sidewalk - taking a seat on the curb. “I should have bought a precooked turkey.”

He ignored the gasp that followed.

“And breach our mutual trust?”

“I didn’t, though.”

Two scuffed shoes kicked at his own as their owner dropped down beside him, reaching up to take off his goggles - red indentations indicating they had been there - before resting an arm on his bent knee. “Yeah… even _I_ kind of regret that you didn’t.”

The idea of seeing Matt so forlorn about his failed project and watching him mope there didn’t sit well with Shiro, looking out at the empty roundabout of their cul-de-sac - clearly disappointed, though his lips were curled upward. He moved enough to nudge the other’s shoulder, smiling softly as he shrugged. “It’s alright. Eight out of ten of your ideas usually work; we were bound to come across a bust sometime.”

Knocking against the man with a rebuttal of his own, he seemed a bit taken with the attempt to cheer him up. “Trying to butter me up into moving in with you?”

“I was considering it… before you blew up my garage.” The half-hearted reply was met with bright eyes, and Matt hooked an arm around the back of Shiro’s neck, pulling him close enough for their noses to bump together awkwardly.

“ _Our_ garage.” He spoke softly, with a tone the older man couldn’t say was anything but sweet with what it implied.

And the kiss he was met with then was even sweeter.

The moment came and went, Shiro pressing his forehead to the other’s and giving him one last smooch that just barely grazed his top lip before breaking the small solace they had amongst the chaos behind them, thoughts finding themselves in the near future - a small, angry woman pointing and yelling accusingly their way.

Matt only confirmed his fears.

“I guess we have to call Pidge.”

Sighing, something he seemed to be doing a lot lately, Shiro relented. “We do.”

The arm around him, the fingers playing along his jaw, fell away - hands meeting each other and fiddling as he put on a face. “...You do it.”

A beat.

“She’s _your_ sister.”

“She likes _you_ better!”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Shiro looked on affectionately as Matt laughed, always such a good sport no matter the situation, and pulling his cellular from the pocket of his pants - hidden beneath layers of clothing - he dialed, holding the phone to his ear.

Shiro’s voice was a cheerfully nervous _‘hello’_ as the youngest Holt answered his call.

“Uh, Pidge, what’s your opinion on sliced turkey from the nearest delicatessen?”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my Tumblr [here](https://birdsandivory.tumblr.com)!


End file.
